I knew those who had taken Brigitta surely knew who her father was, but it was obvious they hadn’t considered the ramifications of taking the child of an army officer. I would loudly announce who Brigitta was. If it was a large hospital, then there had to be a great many people inside it. All within earshot would hear me state why I was there. I would make sure they heard it.
The metropolitan landscape of the city fell away, and in its place were large expanses of verdant pastures and woods, broken here and there with residences and roads leading to smaller towns. Soon I was slowing to study the map Frau Pichler had quickly sketched and glancing at addresses. I stopped in front of a large multistory building, painted white and fenced in and surrounded by trees and hills and lush lawns. Behind it were additional buildings, smaller, also painted white, also edged with grass and trees and flowering shrubs. It looked like a peaceful college campus.But as I came to a stop in front of its gate, I saw that this was no college. It was not even a typical infirmary. The sign readam steinhof psychiatric hospital. A burst of alarm pulsed through me.
I stepped out of the Maiers’ car, my eyes taking in the grandeur of the facility and the absolute quietness. There was no sound coming from the buildings. All I heard was birdsong and the rush of another vehicle passing by me on the road.
I walked up the path to the main building—its front entrance was on the street side of the fence—and opened the heavy door leading to the visitors’ lobby. Inside were shining linoleum floors, comfortable chairs in which to sit and wait, pastoral artwork on the walls. There was no one else in the room except a woman behind a reception desk. She looked up when I approached.
“Can I help you?” she said in German.
I cleared my throat, steeled my resolve, and spoke my best German as well. “Yes. A child was brought in here today from her school in Wieden. But she should not have been. It was a mistake. Brigitta Maier is the daughter of a decorated officer in the Wehrmacht. I’ve come to collect her.”
The woman stared at me as if I had just asked for a table for two.
“And who are you?” she said.
“My name is Fraulein Calvert.”
She cocked her head and frowned. “You are not from the T4 offices. You are American.”
I was disappointed my accent was so obvious but said, “What of it?” I didn’t know what T4 meant, and I could hear the insecurity in my own voice.
“You are not the child’s mother,” the woman went on.
“I am Brigitta Maier’s nanny. I am employed by Captain Maier to care for her.”
“The hospital only speaks to next of kin and legal guardians regarding patients here,” she said calmly.
“But Captain Maier is deployed to Poland and Frau Maier is... ill. So I am here. Because as I said already, a mistake was made. Brigitta Maier is not to be a patient here. I’ve come to fetch her home. And I’d like to speak with someone in charge, please.”
The woman sighed and picked up the handset of the telephone on her desk. She pressed a button. “There’s another one out front here. Not a parent this time. She believes a mistake has been made... No... The child’s surname is Maier...”
The woman listened and I waited.
“All right. Thank you.” The woman hung up the phone and looked up at me. “No mistake has been made, Fraulein.”
“I assure you onehasbeen made,” I said, fighting back tears of frustration. “I would like to see Brigitta.”
“Only family is allowed to visit, and only when visitation is allowed.”
“But I must insist that—”
“Unless you wish me to summon guards to escort you out, you should go, Fraulein.” The woman’s demeanor and voice were so calm, almost bored. I wanted to shake her.
“How do you sleep at night?” I said instead. “Taking these children from their parents and hiding them away here to live like lepers, away from the people who love them. How can you live with yourself?”
The woman serenely picked up the phone, surely to call for guards to toss me out.
I turned on my heel and stormed out of the building, vowing aloud to come back with Captain Maier when he returned next week.
Brigitta did not belong in that place, as pretty as it was on the outside. She belonged home with her family.
Johannes would be able to use his influence, I was sure of it. Maybe he could not rescue all seven of the children who had been taken from the school that morning, but he could get Brigitta.
He must.
And when he did, I would be on the next train with her to somewhere safe. Somewhere far away. Farther away than Innsbruck. I would take her to America. To the vineyard. I would find that safe place. I would.
28
